


Ghosts Of Utopia

by orphan_account



Series: Heart Of Glass, Heart Of Stone [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-06
Updated: 2012-03-06
Packaged: 2017-11-01 13:50:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/357513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the triumphant return of Sherlock Holmes - a hero, the one and only man able to defeat Moriarty and bring him to his knees, Sebastian Moran finds it hard to quench the bitterness and rage.<br/>He knows only one way to do so.<br/>But once the only thing that made him human is taken from him, Sherlock Holmes becomes a rival deadlier than anything Sebastian has ever had to face.<br/>Deadlier, maybe, even more than Moriarty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghosts Of Utopia

**Author's Note:**

> All of the angst. All of it.

"Have you ever watched the man you love die, Doctor Watson?"

Sebastian Moran tilts his head to the side and lights a cigarette. He narrows his eyes.

"It's a funny feeling, don't you think?" 

He stands up and paces around the flat. It's just the two of them, the sniper and the doctor - the great Sherlock Holmes has run off to somewhere exciting, somewhere fascinating and thrilling. He's left his bland and ordinary flatmate behind, and Sebastian smiles because he'd never used the word "ordinary" before he'd met Jim. But it slipped, seamlessly, into his vocabulary the same way many other little things had into his life, like quiet admiration for one James Moriarty, total devotion and the sick and twisted substitute the two men had found for what "ordinary" people called love.

It was also true that if he _ever_  thought of abandoning him, Moriarty had a hundred and one ways of killing him.

All slow.

All excruciating.

All thrilling.

But what if Moriarty abandoned Moran? Sebastian had known from the very start that it was going to happen, sooner or later, but the feeling still bit and burned, the frustration, the pain.

He taps on the skull on the mantlepiece, smirks at it.

John Watson doesn't reply. He just sits in his chair and Moran can feel his eyes, impassible, fixed on his back.

"It's quite the thing. Quite a... _rush_."

He suddenly flips around and points the gun between the doctor's eyes.

"Bang." Moran whispers flatly before lowering the gun without firing.

"Right in the mouth."

His eyes go blank too for a moment, he feels himself slip and lose his grasp on the world. It is a moment and it is a painful one, white hot nails in the back of his head, but it is nothing but a _moment_  that for a scary second makes his façade crack.

Moriarty - _Jim,_ crazy Jim, psycho Jim, lonely Jim. Scared Jim. - knew nothing of a cracking surface. Knew nothing of a man's psyche's twists and turns. There was none of that inside of him. There never had been.

There was only the white rage - screaming, all consuming, burning - and the black quietness - the calm before the storm, the plotting, the planning, the days of emptiness, of no food at all, of not a single word being spoken.

"Of course, you know nothing of that, doctor. You thought you did - and yet, the rush for you is greater. He came back."

He aims at the wall and fires (twice).

Doctor John Watson doesn't flinch.

After all, they never do.

"He was quite the trickster - liked to play games, liked to fuck around with people's heads. And he was bloody good at doing so, the bastard. He thought he could take over the world and drag your precious little Sherlock to Hell with him while doing so."

He glances at the other man.

"Too bad it didn't work out quite as planned, did it?"

He fires another shot. The sound fills his skull, but Sebastian Moran still feels empty. It is a different empty from before, though. This is the empty that had threatened to take him over completely and had been quenched and kept at bay by the promise of revenge.

But it is not unwelcome.

"You're a lucky man, John Watson." Sebastian Moran says after minutes that feel like hours.

"A very, very, very lucky man."

He doesn't bother cleaning up. He doesn't bother scrubbing away his bloody footprints, doesn't bother picking up bullet cases, doesn't bother about a single damn thing.

He knows Sherlock will soon enough come hunting for him and, deep down, Sebastian Moran knows he  _wants_  him to kill him.

A leather glove leaves a single red handprint on the wall.

Sebastian Moran looks at it and then at the body that used to be John Watson and laughs without really knowing why. It is a dull sound that rattles his ribcage and reminds him of bones clacking together.

Jim would be proud, he thinks.

He slips out the same way he came in. Through the bathroom window.

The hunt has begun. 

He knows he's the prey.


End file.
